


If You'd Like To Come Along

by shipwrecks



Series: Amoral Backbones [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, crying bc now that i have another pairing involved this will be twice as long, crying with both pride and shame obviously, to love the les mis movie is to see the face of cognitive dissonance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwrecks/pseuds/shipwrecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust Grantaire to drag him back in.</p><p>(or, how to terribly segue from the star-crossed otp that is E/R to one that actually makes me happy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You'd Like To Come Along

**Author's Note:**

> writing another pairing is weird. but awesome. when you find out who it is, it may not be your thing. don't tell me, I don't care.

i.

He, Enjolras, supposes he shouldn't be surprised when the two of them inadvertently hook up enough to be relegated to the back burner of the their circle's proverbial gossip stove. It's nice; he certainly didn't want a large amount of attention on him, least of all for smudging up his record so atrociously with Grantaire. Not that he's an obvious black mark or anything, Enjolras certainly underestimated him and he continuously proves to be a surprise to him. And he wouldn't say they're dating, because they're not, but it is casual and comfortable. He's sort of become the human equivalent of an old sweater.

So people stop caring about them and it's good because Enjolras can finally get back to work on his honors thesis without Courf bugging him all the time about "his boyfriend" and asking him to stop being so loud during sex, their apartment is cheap so the walls are thin and making him blush and stray away from thoughts about the June Rebellion and just. True to form, Enjolras is happy to once again be left alone.

Trust Grantaire to drag him back in.

Not him personally, thank god, but since apparently Grantaire is either a Classics god (the pun is not lost on him) or literally does not care about doing any work for school whatsoever, he is instead heavily involved in the social lives of the people around him. Enjolras has no intention of taking on this interest, despite how much time they're suddenly spending together, but since they rarely talk about themselves and they need to talk about _something_ after sex, Grantaire talks about their friends.

"Did you know that Prouvaire's in love?"

Enjolras chokes on the lukewarm coffee he habitually keeps next to his bed, you know, just in case. This fact is not why; Jehan falls in love everyday, with strangers passing by him in a flash and inanimate objects alike. If it were legal to wed conceptual ideas, he is pretty sure Jehan would have actually married love by now. No, his sip of coffee is cut short because, "why do you even know this?"

"Because I actually care about what my friends are up to outside of classwork."

Enjolras glares at him. He mistakes it for an invitation to continue with his story.

"Really, this time. With an actual human being. Who he has talked to."

His curiosity gets the better of him, which he really hates, and asks, "who is it?"

"Ah, that's the best part! They met at a party - I believe it was the one Feuilly threw after his showing, you know, the one in the basement of the gallery that you only let me stay five minutes at-"

"You were going to destroy all his art!"

"-anyway, it must have been that one, because that is the only one I can think of where logically both of them would be there, I mean, their paths really have very few crossing points-"

He drums his fingers on the mug, the internationally recognized Enjolras symbol for 'get to the point.'

"Okay, well, it's. It's Montparnasse."

Enjolras drops the mug. Coffee all over his sheets, Grantaire laughing at him, these things are irrelevant.

"He's in love with _Montparnasse_?"

"So he claims. Apparently they didn't talk that much, but he, and I quote, 'was a fresh rain upon his sleeping buds, awakening the flowers to bloom once again.'"

"That's…"

"really gay, I know. But the bigger deal is that Parnasse actually holds even a fraction of these feelings and asked him out on a proper date."

"They're going on a date?"

"Don't be jealous, I've totally offered to flaunt you around in public."

"No thank you" and he thinks he might have thrown up in his mouth a little bit, but that could be the coffee.

ii.

It's sort of hard to imagine Jehan going on a date with anyone; Enjolras hasn't even really, truly considered the 'anyone' is Parnasse. Yeah, he loves love and is always writing poetry and tending to their apartment complex's garden, but. He's so young and he can't imagine him being seriously attracted to anyone, outside of a fantasy, anyway.

And then there is Parnasse to think about. Montparnasse has been in school longer than they have - he's not actually positive how old he is. Enjolras is pretty sure he's a Math major, which confuses him to no end, because it makes no sense whatsoever. He steals from everywhere, whether he needs to or not, and drives to campus on a motorcycle. To be honest, Enjolras feels a bit like a father to a fourteen year girl and is lecturing her on how not to hang around with boys going 90 miles an hour. (To put it in perspective, he'd estimate Jehan at about 10.) And okay, he's very aware that they're all a little overprotective of Jehan; he knows some of the stuff they do isn't altogether necessary. And he's an adult and can do what he wants, even if that apparently means going on dates with sketchy members of biker gangs.

So Enjolras doesn't tell him what to do. Just lets his opinion really show on his face whenever he talks about Parnasse.

But Jehan picks up on their hints, because Enjolras is bad at surreptitious and most of the others weren't even trying, and, honestly, he's angry at them. He rarely gets angry at anyone, let alone his close friends, but who are they to judge who he dates? He is all ready to point out how Combeferre and Courfeyrac secretly sleep together or the complete disfunctionality of Enjolras and Grantaire, but he doesn't, because even at his angriest, he knows they have their reasons for the things they do and he just hopes that they understand he has his reasons.

He doesn't really know why he likes Montparnasse as much as he does, just knows that when he met him, flowers bloomed within him and they curled around his ribcage. And he always sees the world in the best light it can shine in, but it's somehow even brighter.

iii.

Surprisingly, Grantaire was right, and they did meet at Feuilly's party. All of them had come out to see his show and support him, but they certainly weren't doing it out of pity or to ensure he had viewers. He had regular shows, was easily the most popular local artist, was trying to get a loan to rent a permanent gallery space. So lots of people came to see his work, tons they all didn't even know. If he's showing at the gallery that loves him (and he usually is), he always throws a party in their basement after the opening and essentially makes it a free for all, inviting those he can discern would be people who'd like to come to an art party.

Montparnasse is apparently one of these people.

He's not really an art guy, let alone an art party guy, but he's always had an odd fondness for sculpture, felt a weird pull towards the thought of working almost strictly with your hands, and he's wandering around downtown after a stint at the far corner barstool so he ducks inside the gallery.

"Do you like them?"

"I wish he hadn't put so much effort in the detail, to be honest. I think being unfocused sometimes works."

He then realizes, thanks to the show pamphlet he only sort of read, he's talking to the sculptor.

"Um. Sorry…" he trails off, because he's not really sorry, is never sorry, but feels obligated to at least half-assedly say because he can't be artistic for shit and social customs have told him he should.

"No, it's perfectly fine. Nice to have an honest opinion. My friends always gush. I'm not sure they even look at my stuff anymore."

"I'm not your friend, so I'm looking."

"Well, if you're not busy for the rest of the night, I'm having a post-opening party in the basement of this place. It starts after the gallery closes at nine."

"I'll have to check my schedule."

Feuilly was kind of expecting a "but…" and then something about, of course, trying to stop by. He does not get one.

Montparnasse walks away to go look at a piece on the opposite side of the room, but also to untangle the invitation he just received. He can tell right away he does not invite everyone to this party. So Parnasse did something right. (Which, naturally, annoys the shit out of him.) He pins it mostly on the fact that he's wearing ridiculously tight pants and combat boots, and has an undercut, and artists are always trying to hang out with cool people.

But he does show up to the party. He goes straight to the bar and pours himself whiskey neat, which is the classy version of shots, but he thinks he's going to need concentrated alcohol to have this party work.

He doesn't see him staring at him at first; when he does, the boy (and he is a boy) looks away quickly but there's nothing particularly interesting around him he could convince Parnasse he was actually looking at. So Parnasse walks over to him.

He's wafer-thin, swallowed up by his many layers and they are…to say a sight would be an understatement. There is a lot of clashing floral prints involved. And a giant pastel pink sweater. Parnasse thinks he may have finally met his fashion antithesis; it may explain why he wears so much black. The boy calls to mind an abandoned kitten. Parnasse thinks of that horrible children's movie _Oliver and Company_ where all the characters are animals and the titular orphan is a tiny cat.

"You were staring at me."

"Oh! No, um. No I wasn't. Sorry."

His voice is slight, like he's perpetually nervous. Or Parnasse in particular makes him nervous. He is only slightly ashamed how much he likes that.

"It's okay," he leans in, to where he's sitting down, almost whispering, "You can stare."

The boy smiles small, bites his bottom lip, and stares at his shoes. They are mint green patent leather oxfords. Parnasse grins at them, in spite of himself.

"I'm Montparnasse."

"I'm Jean. My friends call me Jehan."

"Are we friends?"

"Um, we. We could be."

Parnasse thinks there are very few universes where they could be friends. But he can indulge him.

"Alright, Jehan. We are friends."

**Author's Note:**

> in case you're wondering/worried, NO, of course I am not done with E/R haha like I could ever abandon them, I have actually a decent amount of parts started, just waiting to be filled with porn. (you think I'm joking but)
> 
> and if you're as happy as I am that J/M have made an appearance, they're coming back too!


End file.
